My Sweetest Downfall
by Lylinn
Summary: Matthew sighed as he stared down at the piano keys. He had to play. He had to. For both himself and the cripplingly sick man that lay in the other room. (Rated T for mild language) France X Canada


**A/N: Hello, and a big thanks for taking the time to look at this! This is a little fic inspired by Regina Spektor's song ****_Samson_****. For the sake of the story I changed a few of the words to fit the story better. I'll have translations and basic information at the end. Rated T for mild language and surprise things. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or ****_Samson_****. **

* * *

Matthew Williams sat on the hard piano bench, keeping his slim fingers hovering over the keys. He tried desperately to let the melody come to him, to let his fingertips gently press the keys and set the notes flying free around the room. But he couldn't. Not without Francis.

_You are my sweetest downfall._

The Canadian forced his eyes shut and choked back a sob. After a moment he opened his eyes and quickly brushed away the tears that had threatened to spill. He carefully closed the lid of the piano before rising from the bench.

For a few moments Matthew stood in silence before finally leaving the small piano room. His footsteps echoed hollowly as he walked down the small hallway. After a few moments he was face to face with a solid wooden door. Wiping his eyes once more beforehand, he gently turned the handle and pushed open the door.

Francis was sitting in an overstuffed chair that was facing one of the wide windows that let light into his room. He was staring absently outside as his hand fumbled with the PICC line that protruded from his arm. Matthew took a few steps forwards towards the man and gently rested a hand on his shoulder. Francis' head turned slowly towards Matthew, and a small smile pulled at his lips and his hand still fumbled with the line.

"Ah, Mathieu, I didn't hear you come in."

"How are you today?" Matthew bit back tears as he looked down at the once-proud man before him. His body was sickly thin and increasingly frail, his blue eyes that once shone with pride now only glinted with a profound sorrow, his once luxurious golden hair was now thin and falling away. He was a ghost of the man he used to be.

"Burkitt isn't acting too kindly today." Francis chuckled softly, resting his head on his hand as he gazed out the window.

Burkitt is how Francis referred to his Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma. Matthew smiled to himself as he remembered the first time the Frenchman started using the pet name.

"_It doesn't like having me around, and I certainly don't like having it around, but that doesn't mean I have to go around calling it "Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma". It's far too long. And I don't believe the national hockey league would appreciate me referring to it as "NHL". So, I'm calling it Burkitt."_

Matthew shook his head slightly as he was pulled back to the present. "Do you want a dose of your pain medication?"

Francis nodded mutely, turning his head to stare wide-eyed at Matthew as he extended his arm. Matthew turned to a small table that sat next to a bookcase that lined the walls of Francis' room, and pulled out a syringe. He filled the syringe with the pain medication and walked back over to Francis, who was once more gazing out the window with his arm still extended, and injected the contents into the PICC line. After all the medication was working through the line Matthew turned back to the table to make sure everything was sanitary and in their proper places. After a few moments he hear a soft sigh from Francis.

"Is it working?" Matthew looked up from the table and locked eyes with Francis. The Frenchman nodded slightly.

"Oui, it is." His blue eyes were now slightly glazed over as he turned back to the window.

Matthew walked over to him and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. "I'll be back in a little while. Will you be okay?"

Francis nodded mutely, the drugs now fully taking effect. Matthew smiled sadly. He would be off in his own little medicine-induced wonderland for the next few hours.

* * *

Once more, Matthew was seated on the piano bench, his fingers hovering over the keys in a vain attempt to play something. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, doubling over and silently sobbing.

Francis was the one who had taught him how to play in the first place. Now he was losing Francis, and was horrified when he realized that he was losing his ability to play, too.

Matthew sat up straight and brushed away his tears, a frown slightly pulling at the corners of his mouth. He had to be strong, for the both of them. They would get through this.

He placed his hands carefully on the keys once more, and slowly began to play. The notes spilled out slowly at first, but then gained speed as he grew comfortable with the music. A tiny smile pulled at his lips as he began to hum.

"That's beautiful, mon ange."

Matthew stopped playing and turned around quickly, only to be greeted by the sight of Francis leaning heavily on the door frame.

"Non, don't stop because of me." His eyes were still slightly glazed over from the painkiller, but he was smiling slightly.

"Are you okay?" Matthew's voice wavered with worry. "I can go get you a chair if you want to stay and listen."

"I'm fine standing." Francis smiled genuinely at Matthew, who frowned a bit.

"At least come sit on the piano bench." Matthew slid over, making room on his left for Francis, who slowly walked over and sat.

Matthew's hands found the keys once more, and the music came much easier to him this time. As he played, he glanced over to look at Francis. The man had a look of rapt concentration as he watched Matthew's slender hands grace the keys with his touch.

"Beautiful." Francis murmured before his hand idly started toying with his PICC line. Matthew frowned slightly before starting to hum. After a moment he softly started singing the lyrics.

"_You are my sweetest downfall_

_I loved you first_

_I loved you first_

_Beneath the sheets of papers lies my truth_

_I have to go_

_I have to go_

_Your hair was long when we first met."_

Francis broke down into a coughing fit, causing Matthew to halt his playing so he could care for the man. Francis' frail body shook with the force of the coughs and he winced in pain after each one.

"Here, we need to get you back to bed." Matthew stood from the bench and held his hand out to Francis, who took it and rose to his feet. The short journey down the hallway to Francis' room was excruciatingly long, with the man frequently having to pause as coughs wracked through his body while Matthew choked back tears and thoughts of this possibly being his end, _their_ end.

After they finally made it back to his room, got him sitting in his chair, and gave him another dose of medicine, Francis was back in his little wonderland. Matthew felt a empty pang of despair as he placed a soft kiss on his love's forehead and left the room, walking slowly back to the piano room.

He sat and began playing where he had left off.

"_Francis went back to bed_

_Not much hair left on his head_

_He ate a slice of Wonder bread_

_And went right back to bed_

_The history books forgot about us_

_And the Bible didn't mention us_

_The Bible didn't mention us_

_Not even once."_

* * *

The next day Francis had insisted on either moving a chair into the piano room, or moving the piano into his room. Matthew sighed and complied, and later on that morning Francis was seated in one of his overstuffed chairs next to the piano bench in the piano room.

"Is it not as bad today? You seem a little happier today." Matthew looked at Francis curiously, absently tucking a piece of hair behind his ear.

Francis laughed lightly. "Oui, it seems my friend Burkitt is feeling rather generous today. Although, being able to listen to you play has greatly helped, mon ange."

Matthew smiled and blushed lightly as Francis gazed at him lovingly. The Frenchman truly was doing better today, his skin had a bit more color and his eyes were brighter now that he wasn't in his drug-induced wonderland.

After a moment Francis reached forwards and gently grabbed Matthew's hand.

"Je t'aime, Matthew. More than you will ever know." Francis smiled gently and his eyes were watery with a few tears that he tried to keep from spilling.

"Je t'aime aussi. I always will."

* * *

Matthew and Francis were once more sitting in the piano, as was their newfound tradition. It was quickly growing late when Francis requested to hear more of the song he had discovered Matthew playing. Matthew nodded solemnly before turning to the piano and allowing the words to roll softly off his tongue.

"_You are my sweetest downfall_

_I loved you first_

_I loved you first_

_Beneath the stars came falling on our heads_

_But they're just old light_

_They're just old light_

_Your hair was long when we first met"_

Matthew slowly stopped playing and glanced over to Francis, who was sitting in his chair. He was occasionally grimacing in pain and choking back tears, but refused to say a word. Matthew shut the piano lid.

"Let's get you back to your room."

Francis nodded solemnly and accepted the hand that Matthew had extended to assist him. The two walked slowly to Francis' room and, once they were in the room, Matthew helped the frail man into his bed.

"Do you want some of the pain medication? I think it's time for another dose, if you want it," Matthew scanned the room for a clock.

"Non. I don't need any."

Matthew turned, wide-eyed, to Francis. "But you're in pain. It'll help."

"No, Mathieu." Francis' lips were in a tight line.

"Francis-"

"No! I will not take any more!" Francis' eyes were squeezed shut as he shouted and ran his hands through his pitifully thinning hair. "I'm not myself when I take it." Francis opened his eyes slowly, gazing at Matthew. "I'm not some mindless vegetable, Mathieu, which is what those damned drugs make me become. I can't stand it." His frail body shook slightly as tears streamed down his face.

Within a second Matthew was seated next to Francis on his bed, his arms wrapped around Francis as he sobbed into his shoulder. "Shh, Francis, it's fine." He murmured, choking back tears of his own.

"No, Mathieu. It is a curse. The disease may be killing my body, but I'll be damned if I allow it to kill who I am."

Matthew just nodded mutely as tears of his own spilled down his cheeks and he tightened his embrace.

Francis pulled away and cupped Matthew's face in his hands, brushing away a few tears with his thumbs. "You're so beautiful. Mon ange."

Matthew smiled weakly and willed the tears to stop. He had to be strong. For both of them.

"I don't even know who I am anymore, Mathieu." Francis' voice cracked and he dropped his hands from Matthew's face. Tears started to flow down his cheeks once more.

"You," Matthew murmured, taking Francis' face in his hands now, "Are the strongest man I know. You have more passion and willingness to fight than anyone else. You are Francis Bonnefoy, and you always will be. You are the man I love, and nothing can ever change that." A weak smile pulled at both of their lips as an idea crossed Matthew's mind.

"I'll be right back." He whispered, rising from the bed and running out of the room.

Moments later he returned with a pair of scissors. He climbed onto the bed and perched himself behind Francis.

"What are you doing, cher?" Francis' voice was weak.

"Giving you a new start." Matthew held a lock of Francis' hair between his fingers and closed the scissors, watching as it floated down onto the bed.

This continued until Francis' hair was cropped short. There were no signs of its previous length or thinness, but it looked golden and healthier than it had. Matthew handed Francis a mirror.

"It looks good." He smiled wryly and turned to Matthew.

"I'm sorry." Matthew frowned slightly.

"Why are you sorry? It looks far better than it did. You did fine, Mathieu." Francis smiled genuinely at Matthew, who returned the smile and willed the tears to stop flowing. After a moment their eyes locked, and Francis leaned down and pressed his lips gently to Matthew's.

* * *

"_Francis came to the bed_

_Told me the old him was dead_

_Told me I was beautiful_

_And came into the bed_

_Oh, I cut his hair myself one night_

_A pair of dull scissors in the yellow light_

_And he told me that I'd done alright_

_And he kissed me till the morning light_

_The morning light_

_And he kissed me till the morning light_

_Francis went back to bed_

_Not much hair left on his head_

_He ate a slice of Wonder bread_

_And went right back to bed._

_Oh we couldn't bring the columns down,_

_No, we couldn't destroy a single one._

_The history books forgot about us_

_And the bible didn't mention us_

_Not even Once."_

Matthew wiped tears away from his eyes as he rose from the piano bench. Francis' chair had since been moved out of the piano room and back into the unsettlingly empty bedroom.

A few nights after Francis' refusal to take anymore of his pain medications he was hospitalized for general organ failure.

Matthew felt sick as he remembered the doctor's face when he was called to discuss Francis' further treatment.

"_There isn't much we can do, other than completely sedate him to make these days as painless as possible. He's been screaming that he doesn't want to become who he isn't, that he wants to die himself. Seeing as you're the caregiver of sorts, I'll leave the decision up to you."_

Matthew's body heaved as tears flowed freely down his cheeks. He hated that choice.

"_I'd like to follow his wishes."_

Within the next day Francis had passed away.

Matthew wiped the tears from his eyes as he stood and adjusted his suit. A knock came from the door. Matthew cleared his throat in an attempt to cease the tears and left the piano room to answer the door.

_You are my sweetest downfall_

_I loved you first._

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so. Some of the translations (there weren't too many)**

**Oui: Yes**

**Mon Ange: My angel**

**Je T'aime: I love you**

**Je T'aime Aussi: I love you too**

**(Please correct me if I'm wrong with any of these)**

**A PICC line is a small flexible tube that is inserted into the peripheral vein (usually in the upper arm) and is led in until it's near the heart. It's one of the best ways to circulate different medications through the body, but they can easily become infected if they aren't properly cleaned.**

**Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma is a type of lymphoma that results in fever, enlarged lymph nodes, and weight loss. It pretty much circulates with your white blood cells. Francis referred to his cancer as "Burkitt" because that is the type of B-cell lymphoma he had. It's just a lot simpler to call it ****_Burkitt_**** than ****_Burkitt Non-Hodgkin B-cell Lymphoma_****. It also gives it more of a personified feel, like it's a person instead of a disease.**

**As I said before, please correct me on any inaccurate information. Even if you have no corrections to make, please review :) I would love some feedback on this story more than anything.**

**Thank you for reading! **


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